Then came another thought forcing its way through my brain, despite my efforts to crush it. Pauline for the present, it is true, was disgusted with Millefleurs, especially for this last dastardly act of his, but women are proverbially fickle--the whole French nation is volatile--and after my death, and she had shed a few transient tears belike to my memory, Jacques _might_ work himself into her good graces again, and even _marry_ her--the thought was agony. The mere fear of death itself was perhaps the last thought that occupied me, for I felt I had no parents to regret me; on the contrary, I felt consoled in the thought that I should see them again in the other world. No; it was not mere death that I feared so much; but then, to leave Pauline, to be cut short in my brilliant career, before I had established my fame! These were thoughts that galled me. Nevertheless, I tried to console myself. Perhaps things might not be so black as my imagination had painted them, and even if they should be--even if I should die by the guillotine for an imagined State offence--it was not like being gibbeted alive in my own country for a highway robbery or murder. No; there was something aristocratic in the idea of being guillotined, for did not the scaffold reek with noble blood? Amid such reflections as these I was conducted by the guard to the gates of the Bastille, and before I was well aware of it, found myself in a spacious cell, and heard the lock turned upon me. Here a singular and never-to-be-forgotten scene was presented to my view. The prison was crowded with men and women of all ranks and ages, many of whom were to die on the morrow, yet most of them appeared to have no fear of death whatever. Here and there were knots of friends who seemed determined to make the most of their short stay in this world, and to enjoy life to the utmost. Here was dicing and card playing, laughing, joking, and swearing, as if they thought it prime fun to die in company. Surely these men, thought I, must be accustomed to death, as they say eels are to skinning, that they no longer mind it. There were, however, prisoners of another cast, persons who preferred spending their last moments on earth in prayer and pious meditation. Parents took leave of their children, children of their parents, friends parted from friends, lovers from lovers. Tears flowed on all sides. Profane mirth and ribald jests mingled discordantly with pious oraisons and tearful farewells. Others again were sullenly awaiting their doom with crossed arms and heads drooping on their breasts, keeping apart from the others, being too proud to pray, and yet indifferent to the amusements of the more light-hearted.